Bounce
by just jen
Summary: Because there just aren't enough Andrew stories out there...


Title: Bounce  
  
Rating: G  
  
Author: Jen  
  
Summary: It's like he's trying to make up for everyone else's absence.  
  
Pairing: shades of Andrew/Warren. Those with active imaginations could find Andrew/Xander too.  
  
Disclaimeration: How many times? They're not mine. I'm not making a penny from any of this.   
  
Author's note: Inspired by the 'I-Spy' scene in 'Touched'. Which I absolutely did not watch six times in one evening. No way. Nuh-uh.  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
Bounce.  
  
It's not like there aren't plenty of things to do in the lair.   
  
Bounce.  
  
After all, if he and Jonathan can keep themselves occupied, there's no reason for Andrew to be pacing like this.  
  
"Do we have anything to eat?"  
  
Warren doesn't tell him about the fridge full of food. Andrew was with him when he bought it anyway, and it's not Warren's fault if the guy can't be bothered to check for himself. Besides, the last thing he needs right now is even more energy.  
  
Bounce.   
  
Andrew flits across to the stairs.   
  
"Maybe we should go out. I have a wicked craving for gummi-worms."  
  
Warren wonders if anyone else ever gets cravings for gummi-worms. Then tries to forget that line of thought and focus on the schematics he's been working on all afternoon.  
  
"Or we could get ice cream. It's like an oven in here. Ice cream would be really good right now."  
  
The pencil slips, steers a sharp grey line right through the middle of the diagram. Grits his teeth. Counts to ten. Deep breaths.  
  
Andrew drops into his bean-bag chair, polystyrene beans throwing a hissy-fit inside it in protest. Tap-tap on the mock-suede bag.  
  
"Are we gonna do anything at all today?"  
  
Jonathan's book slams shut. He pulls on his jacket and stalks out, stamps up the stairs, slams the door behind him. Warren doesn't look up.  
  
"What's his problem?"  
  
Tap-tap, tap-tap.  
  
The bean-bag crinkles and swishes. Andrew's sneakers flip-flop across the floor. A shadow falls across the desk.  
  
"Whatcha doin'?"  
  
His pencil rolls off the desk and skitters underneath it. Warren doesn't notice. He covers the sound with a grunt that come from the effort of pulling Andrew down into his lap. One hand pins Andrew's wrists together.  
  
"Oooh, Warren!"  
  
The giggles are cut off by a messy kiss. Warren likes the quiet.  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
Bounce.  
  
It's like he's trying to make up for everyone else's absence by filling the house with activity. Xander's getting dizzy just watching.  
  
Bounce. Bounce.  
  
He taps a frenetic rhythm on the edge of the coffee table with pointed index fingers. His knees bounce too, almost in sync.   
  
"Isn't there anything else on?"  
  
Xander's sigh of frustration goes ignored. True, the news isn't part of his daily TV diet either, but he's trying to get some perspective on the whole Sunnydale sitch from an outside point of view, and short of actually getting outside Sunnydale, this is the best he can do. Although he kind of wishes he was outside Sunnydale right now. Or even out of the house. Buffy doesn't know how easy she's got it.  
  
Okay, so she's got the trainee Slayers and the apocalypse and everything. Still, it can't be all that harder than babysitting Andrew.  
  
Bounce.  
  
Andrew taps out a new rhythm on his knees. Hums a one-note tune. Xander contemplates murder.  
  
"I'm thirsty."  
  
He's on his feet before Xander can respond. Bounces into the kitchen. Xander tries to focus on the anchor-woman's sunny voice and not on the clink of glasses or the sound of running water from the kitchen. The splash of liquid in the sink tells him he needs to use the bathroom, but there's an overriding urge to stay still. To balance out the hyper-ness of his charge. To shut out the insanity.  
  
"Here you go."  
  
He hadn't even noticed Andrew walk back into the living room. There's a glass of lemonade in front of his face. His bladder protests, but suddenly his throat is scratchy and the heat is making him itch, and the glass is saying, "drink me, drink me."  
  
No. Wait. That's Andrew. The lemonade sloshes in the glass as he waves it in front of Xander. He snatches it away, not bothering with a thank-you. Andrew snickers.  
  
They both watch the screen in silence for all of three seconds, then Andrew turns and bounces over to the front door. Presses his face against the tiny little windows and watches the street.  
  
"When are they coming back?"  
  
Xander says nothing. Listens to the smiling anchor-woman talk about the unexplainable Sunnydale exodus. Slurps his lemonade.   
  
"Do you think it's hotter outside or inside?" Andrew taps against the door handle. Bounces on the balls of his feet. "I'll bet I could burn if I went outside for more than a minute."  
  
Anchor-woman talks about a road accident in the same cheery voice. Xander wipes a film of midday sweat from his forehead with the cuff of his shirt.  
  
"I get sunburnt if I even think about the sun." Andrew's sitting on the floor again, between the couch and the coffee table, cross-legged like an eight year old watching Saturday morning cartoons. Holds his lemonade glass in two hands as he takes a drink.  
  
The weather report indicates more days of blistering heat. Xander swallows the last of his lemonade and contemplates getting up to get more. Andrew nods his head to some unheard beat.  
  
Twitch.  
  
Drums his fingers against his almost empty glass.  
  
Bounce.  
  
"Are you gonna watch the sports news or can we switch over?" As he speaks, his head lolls back on to the couch cushions. He stares at the ceiling.  
  
Twitch. Blink blink. Twitch.  
  
Andrew drinks the last of his lemonade. Sets the glass on the coffee table. No coaster: it'll leave a mark. Taps his palms against his thighs. Stands up and heads over to the cabinet stuffed with the few knick-knacks that have survived life with the Slayer.  
  
"Where's this photo from?"  
  
Bounce.  
  
Andrew's shoes scrape across the carpet  
  
"Are we gonna do anything at all today?"  
  
Xander's right hand fits easily around Andrew's wrist, but his effort to sit Andrew down on the couch only results in a messy pile of hyper-geek in his lap.  
  
"Oooh, Xander!"  
  
The giggles are cut off when Xander pushes him mercilessly to the floor.  
  
"You're no fun."  
  
Andrew dusts off his trousers as he stands. Slopes off back to the kitchen. Xander tries to remember where Buffy keeps her battleaxe.   
  
*~*~*~*~* 


End file.
